Pub Date : 2023-03-15DOI: 10.1080/08905495.2023.2195352
Andrea Pagani
Scholars such as Benedict Anderson, Eric Hobsbawm, and Hugh Seton-Watson have examined how nation and nationhood are significantly intertwined with language, a relationship which has been prominent in the scholarship on the construction of nationhood and national communities for the last thirty years. The significance of Italian dialects to Italian national identity has been examined by historians such as Porciani (1997; 2012), Foot (2003), Brucker (2005), and Patriarca (2010), who analyze the importance of local and regional identities in Italian nationbuilding since the Middle Ages. Nationhood and language were co-constitutive in latenineteenth-century Italian society: the Italian governments made substantial efforts to institute a united, homogeneous, and unilingual community after unification, and to situate language within a discourse of national character. Regional identities also impacted on Italian national communities. This article focuses on how the schoolbooks of Carlo Lorenzini, widely known as Collodi (1826–1890), responded to the promotion, by the post-unification Italian governments, of a standardized national Italian language to a heterogeneous population accustomed to communicating using various dialects, which were thought of as being an inferior mode of expression by nationalist ideologues. Beyond Le avventure di Pinocchio, the first episode of which was published in 1883 in the magazine Il giornale per i bambini, Collodi wrote many schoolbooks, mostly centered around the young middleclass child Giannettino and his path towards a conservative education led by his mentor Dottor Boccadoro. The first text, Giannettino, published in 1877, was named after Parravicini’s Giannetto, the most popular schoolbook at the time. Giannettino was followed by La grammatica di Giannettino (1883), L’abbaco di Giannettino (1885), La geografia di Giannettino (1886b), and Il viaggio per l’Italia di Giannettino (1880, 1883, 1886a), a volume made up of three books dedicated to tales of Giannettino’s travels throughout Italy’s north, center, and south. La lanterna magica di Giannettino, in 1890, concluded the collection. I examine Collodi’s approach to language and implied stance on local dialects in his schoolbooks, and how they contributed to a discourse of Italian national character. I
本尼迪克特·安德森（Benedict Anderson）、埃里克·霍布斯鲍姆（Eric Hobsbawm）和休·塞顿·沃森（Hugh Seton Watson。Porciani（1997；2012）、Foot（2003）、Brucker（2005）和Patriarca（2010）等历史学家研究了意大利方言对意大利国家认同的重要性，他们分析了中世纪以来地方和地区认同在意大利国家建设中的重要性。在13世纪后期的意大利社会中，民族身份和语言是共同构成的：意大利政府在统一后做出了巨大努力，建立了一个统一、同质和单一语言的社区，并将语言置于具有民族特征的话语中。地区认同也影响了意大利民族社区。这篇文章的重点是卡洛·洛伦蒂尼（Carlo Lorenzini，1826-1890）的教科书是如何回应统一后的意大利政府向习惯于使用各种方言交流的异质人群推广标准化的国家意大利语的，民族主义理论家认为这种方言是一种低级的表达方式。除了《匹诺曹历险记》（Le avventure di Pinocchio）的第一集于1883年发表在《Il giornale per i bambini》杂志上之外，科洛迪还写了许多教科书，主要围绕着年轻的中产阶级孩子詹内蒂诺（Giannettino）和他在导师多托·博卡多罗（Dottor Boccadoro）的带领下走向保守教育的道路展开。1877年出版的第一本书《Giannettino》以当时最受欢迎的教科书Parravicini的《Giannetto》命名。Giannettino之后是La grammana di Giannettio（1883年）、L’abbaco di Giannitino（1885年）、La geografia di Giannetino（1886b年）和Il viaggio per L’Italia di Gianettino（1880年、1883年、1886a年），这本书由三本书组成，专门讲述Giannetti诺在意大利北部、中部和南部的旅行故事。1890年，Giannettino的La lanterna magica完成了该系列。我研究了科洛迪在他的教科书中对语言的态度和对当地方言的隐含立场，以及它们是如何促成意大利民族特色的话语的。我
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Pub Date : 2023-03-15DOI: 10.1080/08905495.2023.2195353
L. McReynolds
‘That,’ said Sydney in my ear, ‘is the voice and that is the manner of a hypnotised man, but, on the other hand, a person under influence generally responds only to the hypnotist, – which is another feature about our peculiar friend which arouses my suspicions.... [to Holt] Do you think that this is a performance in a booth, and that I am to be taken in by all the humbug of the professional mesmerist?’ (Marsh 2004, 224–225)
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Pub Date : 2023-03-15DOI: 10.1080/08905495.2023.2198161
J. Sample
On 22 August 1841, The Sunday Times called out The Times for calling out The Morning Chronicle for publishing fake news. The Sunday Times noted that The Times had not only also published the same news that The Morning Chronicle had published, but that The Times did so in two different sections of the same paper, once in a “City-article,” where the news was identified “as ‘a hoax’ and, as such, ‘believed everywhere’” and again in a section with news from Paris where it was “the prominent feature” and reported “as if it were gospel” (“The Times and the Herald,” 1841). The news was about an imperial edict issued by the Emperor of China banning the export of tea and rhubarb. The news was published in The Times a day after The Spectator had been careful to question “the authenticity of the intelligence” (“Postscript,” 1841), and, in fact, The Times had also speculated that the story may have been planted “for the sake of immediate return” in the Parisian press by “Mincing-lane,” which was the center of the tea and spice trade, a suggestion that led The Sunday Times to quip that The Times was “skilled in the mystery of concocting news for special purposes” (“The Times and the Herald,” 1841). The Sunday Times, notably, also pointed out that The Times had first reported the ban on 3 August 1841 and was, therefore, a potential source for the original story published in The Morning Chronicle. On 28 August 1841, one week after The Sunday Times called out The Times, Punch, or The London Charivari also reported on “the last order of the government, prohibiting the exportation of tea and rhubarb” in “Important News from China. Arrival of the Overland Mail!” (74), the firstever article about China to appear in the periodical (74). Unlike The Times, The Sunday Times, The Morning Chronicle, and The Spectator, Punch sourced the news about the export ban to “expresses” that came directly “from the Celestial Empire” by way of Punch’s “own private electro-galvanic communication” (74). Punch further asserted that this “rapid means of transmission” carried “dispatches so fast that” the writers for Punch “generally get them before they are written” (74). Reports about the export ban appeared in newspapers throughout August of 1841 and provided Punch with the perfect opportunity to play the foil. Not only did the news involve an empire with which the British Empire was at war, but the story also displayed an absurdist wit that aroused uncertainties associated with the presence of China in the lives of the British: what was British culture in the nineteenth century without things
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Pub Date : 2023-01-01DOI: 10.1080/08905495.2023.2163764
Leeann Hunter
sexological thinking. And she too is keen to resist the elision of empire, in part to illustrate that heteronormality is the effect of imperial formations, in part to re-orient the direction of current academic practices. Here she is unequivocal: “I argue that the ongoing dominance of the category of sexuality in mainstream queer approaches, to the neglect of race and empire, is an inheritance of this deliberate separation of sexuality from the racial-imperial conditions of its production” (92). If Patil’s (anti)imperial sociology of sex and gender is aimed at challenging the presumptive whiteness of contemporary critical methodologies, it is also intended as a thoroughgoing critique of the northern hemispheric presumptions of those practices. From the start of the book, she takes up the centrality of global south perspectives to any truly disruptive approach – which raises interesting questions about the role of a vertical-axis view in the context of a horizontal, “webbed connectivities” study. The two are not mutually exclusive, of course, but the book doesn’t address the interesting collisions and convergences that result from acknowledging both the significance of cross-hatched spaces and the enduring machinery of north-south grids and metropole-colony configurations. That said, she saves her real firepower for the last chapter, “The Reordering of Empire and the American Invention of Gender,” which brings us effectively back to Lugones’ coloniality-of-gender paradigm. Here Patil offers a bracing account of how crucial US settler colonial contexts are for understanding how sociological thinkers and the discipline as a whole took up gender, and how gender, with its implicit bias toward anglophone usages and meanings, became enshrined in – and as – a global, universal category. The implication is that gender, as a category of analysis, is itself a carrier of the coloniality of power. This is also not a new claim, though some of the most celebrated gender theorists in the west (Joan Scott, Judith Butler) have recognized it belatedly in terms of their own scholarly production. That is to say, they proceeded for decades to deploy their conceptual frameworks without taking the imperial sociology Patil has materialized into consideration. Given the global impact of their work, Patil is right to call out this hemispheric bias and to make visible the continuous influence of such thinking from the pre-Enlightenment period down to the present, and to remind us what the dangers are of disappearing empire and its highly racial and racializing histories in our practices. While it is sobering to acknowledge such reminders are needed, this book makes clear what the stakes are if we do not continue to foreground the ideological and material work of imperialism, past and present.
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Pub Date : 2023-01-01DOI: 10.1080/08905495.2023.2163773
S. Naramore
space, including the space of the novel, the nation, and the land. Fiction offers a useful space for considering how individuals act in concert with one another, rather than in competition. Richardson notes that Martineau’s characters “are bound to others through systems of both dependency and complicity, figured in their embodiment, their economic activity, and their physical environment” (92). Whereas Smiles relied on imagined communities to create a notion of Nation in his self-help examples, Martineau used fiction to situate her characters in interdependent relationships to illustrate community. Richardson considers that Anthony Trollope treats his characters as individuals also vying for space in the novel. Through her close reading of Trollope’s use of comparisons in the novel, Richardson argues that Trollope “suggest[s] individualism’s limits and dependencies” (175). Characters work both in competition and comparison to one another, rejecting the idea that there be a “clear winner and loser” (157). Turning to the limits of the land, Richardson notes that Martineau pays greater attention to the environment and ecology than Smiles, and that she “represented the scope as well as the limits of individual agency and ambition, whether at the scale of one’s own body or of a wider, global system” (65). Miles Franklin takes this consideration of the environment further in the colonial contexts of her novels, with particular attention to how the natural environment is portrayed as a way to draw attention to issues of nationalism and colonialism in relationship to ambition. Franklin’s novels focus on the New Woman narrative of the fictional heroine Sybylla, who is a writer experiencing “an Australia hampered by gender and class norms and stricken by drought, which kills off the imported livestock and crops along with the settlers’ aspirations” (178). Richardson interprets the drought as an opportunity that enables Sybylla to write. Richardson thus reads the Australian environment in the novel as serving parallel narratives of race, empire, and gender. The chapter on Miles Franklin, more than any other, provides key cultural perspectives and historical contexts to ground the analysis. Overall, Richardson’s study of self-help challenges typical notions of laissez-faire capitalism with wider critiques about disability, gender, and colonialism that make this a valuable contribution to Victorian studies in self-help.
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Pub Date : 2023-01-01DOI: 10.1080/08905495.2023.2161782
Kimberly J. Stern
Oscar Wilde’s friends and associates generally agreed: the famed aesthete knew practically nothing about music. A schoolfellow recalled that as a boy Wilde was a fast and voracious reader but “poor at music” (Harris 2007, 22). WhereasWilde’s brother was a gifted pianist who composed his own “improved” endings to Friedrich Chopin’s preludes, even devoted friend and literary executor Robert Ross declared that Wilde “never knew anything really of music” (Ellmann 1984, 127; as quoted in Harris 2007, 158). Bernard Shaw suggested that his performance of musical knowledge was so inadequate as to earn him “a reputation for shallowness and insincerity which he never retrieved until it was too late” (Shaw 1979, 404). Indeed, on one occasion Wilde reportedly became irate when a friend repeatedly invoked the phrase “a splendid scarlet thing by Dvorák,” misquoting a line from Wilde’s “The Critic as Artist.” According to Robert Sherard, Wilde suspected “his friends knew that his attempt to write about Dvorak or any other composer was a mere pretence, and that he cleverly veiled his ignorance by the use of sonorous and effective phrases” (Sherard 1906, 121–122). Contemporary scholars too have suggested that Wilde saw music largely as a cultural signifier, albeit one that he deployed with care and purpose. Some, like Joe Law (2004) and Oliver Lovesey (2020), have refined Sherard’s depiction of Wilde as poseur by treating his musical references as evocations of cultural and sexual identity. Others propose that Wilde valued music chiefly in relation to the art form with which he was most comfortable: the written word. In this spirit, Tanya Touwen remarks: “Wilde was not in the least musical,” though Salome “is almost incantatory, with a repetitive lyricism that is indeed not unlike a ballad” (1995, 22). David Wayne Thomas takes this idea further, demonstrating that Wilde aspired to a kind of “verbal musicality,” drawing upon his “highly unprofessional relation to music” to accentuate the aural effects of language (2000, 19). In short, even where music does emerge in Wilde’s work, scholars have suggested that it is not treated with the formal rigor that typifies his discussions of the literary and visual arts. Though Wilde’s language at times seems almost musical – and
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Pub Date : 2023-01-01DOI: 10.1080/08905495.2023.2161783
Hayley Smith
“I have never ceased to regret,” William Bell Scott wrote in his Autobiographical Notes, “that the reception [Theophilus Marzials’s] first volume met with has prevented him from persevering” (Minto 1892, 194). Given that Marzials’s first and only collection of poetry, The Gallery of Pigeons, and Other Poems (1873), faced disapproval from critics including the much-celebrated Dante Gabriel Rossetti – who, upon receiving a complimentary copy of Marzials’s poetry, wrote to the author and candidly stated his dissatisfaction with the collection – Marzials’s dejection was arguably very understandable. Marzials subsequently wrote to Scott and admitted that he felt as though “what [Rossetti] says is true, that my book is crude and immature, and, what to my mind is worse, trivial” (Minto, 194). My paper strongly disagrees with Marzials’s dispirited suggestion that The Gallery of Pigeons was unimportant or insignificant, arguing instead that his poetry articulates the most private (and often dangerous) aspects of sexuality and sexual identity in the midto late-nineteenth century. In doing so, I call attention to how music is employed throughout The Gallery of Pigeons, focusing primarily on Love’s Masquerades – a sonnet sequence contained amongst the collection and one within which the personified Love appears in different guises and performs various sexual and romantic roles – to imagine, explore, and express specifically unobtainable erotic desires; their unobtainability arising from the social disruption that they threaten. Very little has been written on Marzials or his poetry, so in its absence a brief biographical note might be helpful. The youngest of five children, Theo Marzials was born on 20 December 1850 to Antoine-Theophile Marzials and Mary Ann Jackson. Although he only published the aforementioned Gallery of Pigeons, Marzials also contributed to the literary periodical The Yellow Book during the final years of the nineteenth century. When The Gallery of Pigeons did not receive the praise that its author might have wished for, Marzials turned his attention to music, consequently spending much of his time working as a composer. Nevertheless, he sometimes amalgamated both of his artistic interests; Pan Pipes (1873), for example, tied together the poetry of Christina Rossetti (the sister of Dante Gabriel Rossetti) and the illustrations of Walter Crane with Marzials’s musical compositions. In a similar vein, Marzials composed a musical version of
“我从未停止过后悔，”威廉·贝尔·斯科特在他的自传笔记中写道，“西奥菲勒斯·马尔齐亚尔斯的第一卷受到的欢迎使他无法坚持下去”（明托1892194）。考虑到马尔齐亚尔斯的第一本也是唯一一本诗集《鸽子和其他诗歌画廊》（1873年）遭到了评论家的反对，其中包括著名的丹蒂·加布里埃尔·罗塞蒂，他在收到马尔齐亚尔诗歌的免费副本后，写信给作者，坦率地表达了他对收藏的不满——马尔齐亚尔斯的沮丧可以说是非常可以理解的。马尔齐亚尔斯随后写信给斯科特，承认他觉得“[罗塞蒂]说的是真的，我的书粗鲁而不成熟，在我看来更糟糕的是，微不足道”（明托，194）。我的论文强烈反对马尔齐亚尔斯沮丧地认为鸽子画廊不重要或微不足道的说法，相反，他认为他的诗歌表达了19世纪中后期性和性身份最私密（往往是危险的）的方面。在这样做的过程中，我提请大家注意《鸽子画廊》中音乐的运用，主要集中在《爱的伪装》上——这是一首包含在收藏中的十四行诗序列，其中拟人化的爱以不同的伪装出现，并扮演各种性和浪漫的角色——以想象、探索和表达无法获得的性欲；他们的不可获得性源于他们所威胁的社会混乱。关于马尔齐亚尔斯或他的诗歌的文章很少，所以如果没有，写一篇简短的传记可能会有所帮助。Theo Marzials是五个孩子中最小的一个，1850年12月20日出生于Antoine Theophile Marzials和Mary Ann Jackson。尽管马尔齐亚尔斯只出版了前面提到的《鸽子画廊》，但在19世纪的最后几年，他也为文学期刊《黄书》做出了贡献。当鸽子画廊没有得到作者所希望的赞扬时，马尔齐亚尔斯将注意力转向了音乐，因此他把大部分时间都花在了作曲家的工作上。尽管如此，他有时还是将两种艺术兴趣融合在一起；例如，Pan-Pipes（1873）将克里斯蒂娜·罗塞蒂（Dante Gabriel Rossetti的妹妹）的诗歌和沃尔特·克莱恩的插图与马尔齐亚尔斯的音乐作品联系在一起。类似地，马尔齐亚尔斯创作了一个音乐版本
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